


ship to wreck

by steepair



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steepair/pseuds/steepair
Summary: It's her freshman year of college, and Trish is already acing Advanced Crashing and Burning.





	ship to wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Barely Functional Human Disaster Trish ft. Ride Or Die Jessica is my aesthetic.

She wasn’t sure how she ended up on a bed or who was on top of her kissing her neck, but it was okay. It almost felt kind of nice but also like she might throw up, like taking the first step after riding the tilt-a-whirl at a carnival. Or maybe that was just the room spinning. She felt hot breath over her ear and a sudden sharp sting, but she’d already had her ears pierced, didn’t even have a choice. She'd been thinking about adding more holes, because all the cool girls did it, and that made this very convenient except it wasn’t a needle in her ear, it was teeth, and except she hadn't said yes yet or no or actually anything at all.

There was a hand on her breast and pounding bass vibrating through her body. Her mind wandered to that old fairytale, "The Princess and the Pea," and all the girls the prince turned away for being too fat or too ugly, until he found the one delicate enough to feel a pea under a mountain of mattresses. She felt like the Princess and the Pulsing Beat, and it wasn’t nearly so impressive as feeling a pea, but nobody had ever thought of her as delicate anyway. If they did, they surely would’ve handled her more carefully.

She never wanted to be delicate, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be made of pretty porcelain, easily shattered but out of reach on a shelf, inaccessible and surrounded by passive-aggressive “do not touch” signs. Instead, she was a ragdoll, ugly and common and hollow button eyes, her stitching coming undone, careless hands dragging her through the dirt and tearing her to pieces.

She felt the mattress shift and the weight move off her body, and for a moment the music was drowned out by the clink of a belt and rustle of cloth. She thought she could probably move if she tried, but it didn’t seem worth the fight. Not much did these days.

The room was dark and she couldn’t see the shadow whose hand was moving up her skirt or the look on his face as he went flying to the floor and oh, there was another shadow standing above her, lit from behind by the lights of the hall. She knew that shadow.

“Goddammit, Trish.”

Jessica always thought it was worth the fight.

She grabbed Trish by the arm and hoisted her into a sitting position. The world spun, worse than any tilt-a-whirl, and she slumped forward into Jessica’s stomach trying not to throw up. It would be messy, and things were already messy enough, and Jessica wouldn’t like vomit on her new Docs. Jessica didn’t like to spend money, but she said a sturdy pair of boots was one of the most important things a girl should own.

“Hey, man, what the shit?” a deep voice slurred, and she remembered the other shadow, the one with the wandering hands, was still there. Trish turned her face against Jessica’s stomach just enough to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. The room was still mostly dark, only the hall light shining through the doorway, but he looked vaguely familiar. He was trying to get up.

Jessica growled. She steadied Trish before stomping over and kicking the his arm out from under him. His face smashed onto the hardwood floor. There was no way to see it in low lighting, but Trish hoped there was blood.

“What the fuck? You’re fucking crazy. I didn’t do anything,” he whined, trying to curl in on himself.

Jessica knocked him over onto his back with her foot. “If you touch her again… if you even so much as look at her, I’ll shove your dick so far up your ass you’ll be choking on it. You fucking understand?” There was no answer.

Trish watched all of this in awe and amusement, barely managing to stay vertical. She laughed suddenly and lifted a hand up to cover her mouth, but she lost her balance and almost slipped to the floor. It made her laugh harder.

Jessica rested her heel on his fingers and pressed down. He cried out in pain. “You understand?” she repeated.

“Yes! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered. Jessica removed her boot.

Trish was still giggling as Jessica stalked back over and pulled her off the bed. After a long moment getting Trish steady on her feet, they were out the door. In the full light of the hall, Jessica apparently saw something she didn’t like, because she muttered “Jesus Christ” under her breath and stopped to pull Trish’s skirt down and straighten her top. Then she went back to leading her along.

They hit the stairs, packed with people drinking and making out, and it slowed their pace. The light-headed relief Trish felt was wearing off and was instead replaced with indignity and embarrassment. Jessica was still dragging her by the arm, in front of all these people, like she’d done something wrong, like she was a misbehaving child. Who did she think she was?

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Jessica turned them towards the living room. Trish pulled back suddenly, causing Jessica to halt and spin around. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to make Jessica stop unless Jessica wanted to stop, and it made her even angrier. Her head was still spinning, but the anger brought her clarity.

“Let go of me, Jess,” she said, firmly but civilly. She didn’t want to cause a scene. She’d been trained to never cause a scene.

Jessica scoffed, but lessened her grip. “How about I don’t? It’s time to go home. Do you have a jacket or what?”

Trish grit her teeth. The music was too loud, and they almost had to shout just to hear each other, but nobody seemed to be paying them any mind yet. “I get to decide when I go home.”

“You’re not in any kind of state to be making decisions right now.” To drive home her point, Jessica let go, and Trish lost her balance, stumbling a few steps backwards into a door jamb. “You can barely stand up straight.”

Trish pushed off the wall and walked forwards unsteadily, digging a finger into Jessica’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Jessica slapped the hand aside, scowling. “So, what do you want? I leave you here, you pass out, and the next guy waiting in line crawls on to get his rocks off?”

“Fuck off, Jess.” She was not ready to think about what just happened. She’d never be ready to think about it or how it wasn’t the first time or how Jessica hadn’t always been there to save her or how nobody else had ever cared enough to bother.

“Happily. But you’re coming with me.” Jessica grabbed her again and pulled her into the living room. Trish started to dig her heels in, but there were so many people, and they knew who she was, they made stupid jokes or stalked her around campus or pretended to be her friend, and they might go running to some trashy gossip rag, and suddenly there’d be a headline about Patsy Walker throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of a party, and then she’d be getting a million phone calls from her mother with plans for damage control and sniping about how she should come back home and forget about college if she was going to be a stupid spoiled brat about it.

Before Trish knew it, they were out the door and across the street and starting down the campus walk towards her dorm and ugh, Jessica was still dragging her along, hand around her upper arm, and it hurt a little, but she knew it could hurt a lot more. She knew Jessica could grind her bones to dust if she wanted.  

“You can let go now.” Jessica didn’t let go, didn’t say a word, and Trish tried to plant her feet on the brick. “Goddammit, I'm not a fucking child!”

“Then stop acting like one!” Jessica snarled back. She didn’t even spare Trish a look as she jerked her forward, too hard, wrenching her shoulder, and Trish could feel the fingers digging in, bruising, and _don’t be such a child, Patsy, if you’d just behave, it wouldn’t hurt_ and no, that wasn’t right that wasn’t she wasn’t — 

“Don’t touch me! Stop! _Get off get off get off_ !” she shrieked.

Jessica suddenly let go as if bitten, and Trish tumbled to the ground at the loss of her steadying hold. Her back slammed against something hard and unforgiving, and she curled in on herself. She wanted to scream again, and shout and cry and run, but she couldn’t because it would make things worse, it would hurt worse, so she kept quiet and small and frozen. And maybe she couldn’t scream or cry or run anyway, because she couldn’t breathe, and she was choking, sticky black tar running down her throat and solidifying in her chest.

God, she was dying in the middle of the campus walk, suffocating to death, and making a fool of herself and fuck, did anyone follow them out? Did anyone see her trembling and choking and shrinking? Were they laughing at her? Jessica must be so ashamed of her, must be so disgusted, and she was going to leave if she wasn’t already walking away, but Trish didn’t think she could manage to open her eyes, and she didn’t want to ever open them again if all she’d see was Jessica’s back.

She was so pathetic, such a fucking baby. Why couldn’t she do anything right? Why couldn’t she just do as she was told? It wouldn’t have to hurt if she’d just do as she was told. Everyone would love her, and it wouldn’t have to hurt. All she had to do was smile wide and look pretty and memorize her lines and laugh on cue and not get fat and stop crying and hide the bruises and never ever tell anyone and she couldn’t even do that _ungrateful little bitch you're nothing without me you’re nothing stupid worthless nothing_ — 

“Trish.”

That wasn’t her mother, her mother never called her that, no matter how many times she asked or demanded or begged. Her mother didn’t care what she wanted. Her mother didn’t care. Her mother— 

“Trish. Can you please take a breath for me?”

It wasn’t her mother, it was Jessica, but Jessica was gone. Why would she still be here? Why was she always here? Trish did everything wrong, and she wasn’t good to Jessica, she was ungrateful and difficult, always so difficult. Why did she have to make everything so difficult for everyone? But Jessica stayed anyway. Jessica had to be a babysitter when she should’ve been able to live on her own life, but she never left. Trish was nothing, and Jessica deserved everything, but she was still here, asking her to breath.

“Deep breath, Trish.”

She gasped, and oxygen found its way in through cracks in the tar. She cracked open her eyes and saw a blurry Jessica crouched in front of her. Her hand was outstretched, reaching for Trish, but she didn’t touch her.

“That’s good. Keep breathing. In. Out.” She timed her breathing to Jessica’s words. It was still shallow, but coming slower now, and she didn’t feel as light-headed. She glanced around, rubbing the tears off her face. She saw a familiar tree, gnarly and ancient, and realized they weren't far from her dorm. She was leaned against a low wall separating the main walk from the lawn. The brick was cold against her back. Everything was so cold. She hadn’t even noticed. It was almost December. She could smell something earthy and smokey on the cold air. There'd been a bonfire at the party. It helped to focus her senses, to turn her hyperawareness away from her body and onto the world around her. Her breathing was nearly normal now.

She heard Jessica sigh. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I wasn’t thinking. I was just…scared. For you. But that's no excuse. I’m sorry." She settled on the brick wall, her legs close but not quite touching Trish’s shoulder. It was just enough to feel her presence without being overwhelming. “You’ve been avoiding me lately.”

Trish was still curled up against the wall, her legs pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. She couldn’t look at Jessica. “Yeah…” she whispered.

“It’s getting worse.” Jessica didn’t say it, but Trish felt the implication anyway: _you’re getting worse_ . It was true. She felt bad, more than she ever had in her life, and that was saying something, because she’d never _not_ felt bad.

College was supposed to be a good thing. Her big escape. Her chance to make a new life for herself. An opportunity to show that she was smart and capable and good for something other than looking pretty and parroting lines someone else put in her mouth. But she was fucking it all up. She wasn’t actually smart or capable or good enough. Not for academics, not for being on her own, not for making choices, not for anything. Her grades were awful, and she was on her way to academic probation. Her panic attacks were getting worse and more frequent. She spent most of her time sleeping, attempting to sleep, partying, and passing out. When she actually made it to class, she was zoned out on klonopin and incapable of absorbing anything. She lied to her professors. She lied to get her prescriptions filled early. She lied to Jessica. She lied about everything to everyone, especially herself.

And she didn’t know who or what to blame. She knew the pills were a problem, had been for a while. Maybe things would be different if she had a psychiatrist that actually cared and wasn’t bankrolled by her mother. She took them as prescribed at first, but the dosage was too high, and that wasn’t _her_ fault, right? It was easy to blame the doctor, even easier to blame her mother. But they didn’t shove one-two-three-four pills into her mouth and force her to chase it with a shot of vodka. That was her own doing. Her own choice. And the choices she made for herself were obviously shit.

There was no one writing her lines or directing her actions or making sure she was standing on her mark. No producers or directors or publicists or mothers to tell her what to do. She’d been fighting for so long to get away from all that, to finally have control of her life, but she just… hadn’t thought about what she’d do or how she’d do it once she was on the other side.

Not that she was fully on the other side yet. Her mom had only let her go to college because Trish convinced her it was good publicity and important for her image. What was Patsy Walker, wholesome All-American Girl Next Door, without a classic co-ed experience? It worked, barely, and only because she agreed to do projects during breaks. That was a must. Dorothy had a plan. _It’s Patsy_ was over, but now it was time to transition Trish into serious adult roles.

Her mother had called earlier, raving about a movie filming over winter break, and Trish might have to miss a week or two or four of the new semester, but it was _worth it_ , it’d be good for her career and good for their pocketbooks. Trish reluctantly said yes, after much browbeating and guilt tripping, and instead of calling Jessica after hanging up, she swallowed a handful of pills and walked over to a party and drank too much and ended up in a stranger’s bed with a strange man on top of her.

She could’ve said no to her mother, should’ve said no. She had no intention of doing a movie. The very thought of it made her chest constrict and her breath shallow again, and goddammit, she was not going to have another panic attack tonight, because she was not going to act ever again. She was not doing it. Her mother could cut her off, _would_ absolutely cut her off, but it was Trish’s money, and she was 18 now, and as Jessica was always reminding her, she had options, she could fight it. She just had to figure out how.

But if she spent any amount of time thinking about it, she couldn’t function. The law would back her, probably, but litigation could take years, and her mother was cruel and spiteful. She would drag it out as long as possible and prevent Trish from accessing her money in the meantime. Dorothy had always given her an allowance, and it was a lot compared to a regular kid, but she’d kept a close eye on how it was spent. Trish had been able to squirrel away funds into a secret account, little by little so her mother wouldn’t notice, but it wasn’t going to last for long, especially not with legal expenses. How would she support herself? How would she pay for school? Jessica said she’d help, said that she’d technically been living off of Trish’s money when she’d been under the Walker roof, and it would just be returning the favor, but Trish didn’t want to rely on her that way.

It was too much to consider. Instead, she thought of little orange bottles and child safety caps and chalk on her tongue, but she left her meds at home, and Jessica probably wouldn’t let her take more. She shouldn’t want to take more, but it was easier, feeling nothing, and it hurt when she tried to stop, worse than any pain she’d ever experienced. She was stuck. Worse than stuck. She was sinking, up to her ears in the tar pit, unable to reach for help but desperate to keep breathing.

She shivered. Jessica noticed and slipped off her leather jacket, holding it out. Jessica obviously thought through the weather a little better and was wearing a ratty grey sweater over a flannel, so Trish took the jacket and bundled herself up. Jessica turned away again and looked down, scrutinizing the cracks in the brick with a laser-like focus. “You know you can, like… talk to me or whatever. If you need.”

Trish snorted quietly. That was a rare offer from Jessica. Which meant things really were that bad, in case her breakdown in the middle of the campus walk didn’t make that clear. Jessica was the most important person in her world, and the only person she felt safe around. But she was never any good at voicing her feelings, and even though she should feel comfortable talking to Jessica, sometimes it felt even harder to do than it might with a stranger. She didn’t want Jessica to know how scared she was, because Jessica wasn’t scared of anything. She was so strong, and Trish wasn’t.

Jessica was always saving her ass, always offering to save her ass, but what if everything Trish told her was just _too much_ ? What if Jessica finally realized she was too scared and too weak to help herself? What if she realized what everyone else knew: she was pitiful and useless and loathsome and wasn’t worth saving? What if she realized she was wasting her time and getting nothing out of their friendship? What if she _left_? Went off on her own or found better friends that were fun and free, that she didn’t have to babysit and clean up after? Trish didn’t want to be a burden anymore, didn’t want to be deadweight for Jessica to drag around. She knew Jessica would figure out she could do better eventually, and it was selfish, so fucking selfish, but Trish didn’t want to do anything that would make her realize it sooner.

Of course, now that she was actually running through it in her head, pushing Jessica away to keep her from leaving didn’t actually make any goddamn sense, did it? She was trying to hide how awful she was so Jessica would stay, but she did it by cutting her out, which was probably just pushing her out the door faster. A brilliant plan from the mind of Patsy Walker, Grand Slam Asshole. She was an idiot, and if she kept this up, she was going to lose Jessica for sure.

Jessica didn’t like talking about feelings either, wasn’t any better at it than she was. But she was offering, she was trying, attempting to reach out, and that meant Trish hadn’t lost her yet. She needed to try too, at least make an effort to meet her halfway. She didn’t have to tell her everything that was going on. Just a little bit. Maybe that would be enough.

She wasn’t going to bring up her mom or the movie offer. Jessica would just say what she’d been saying: tell Dorothy to fuck off, and get a lawyer. But Trish wasn’t ready for that, might never be ready for that, and she didn’t want to have that conversation again, especially not now. Maybe she could just talk about how disastrous her college experience had been so far. Jessica clearly figured that out already.

Trish sighed, lifting a fallen leaf off the ground. Now or never. "I guess I thought that this would be different. The whole college thing. Mom’s not breathing down my neck at every moment for once in my life, and it should be a relief, but I… I thought I’d be better at it, you know? Instead, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not used to being in a normal classroom, I don’t really know how to make friends, and I’m not sure I know how to exist without someone telling me what to do.” She tore apart the leaf in her hands and let the pieces drift back to the ground. “I'm not even sure what I _like_ to do. What are my interests? I have no idea, Jess. It’s ridiculous."

Jessica looked down towards her. "That’s dumb.”

Trish craned her head up, unamused. “Gee, thanks. Helpful.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “No, I mean, you freaking out about it is dumb. Fuck, Trish, you think I have any better idea what I’m doing or where my life is going? I don’t. But I’m pretty sure that’s normal. Everyone our age is trying to figure it out. That's kind of the point of college, right? It’s what you’re paying out the ass for. Just try…” she waved her hand around in a vague gesture “...shit. Find out what you like. Join a drum circle or something. Maybe you’ll discover a passion for banging bongos or cute wiccan chicks.”

Trish looked at her dubiously.

“Oh, c’mon, you know what I mean. It doesn’t have to be that, just do _something_ . Put your focus somewhere positive instead of worrying about shit all the time.”  
  
"I guess…” Trish trailed off. Just try shit. Great advice. Jessica should charge by the hour. But there was a decent point mixed in with the vulgarities and lesbian jokes: she needed to direct her energy into something other than destroying herself.

She racked her brain. There were all kinds of activities and clubs around campus, but the thought of participating in any of them didn’t seem appealing. She was pretty sure people were expected to have some general knowledge about a club they joined, and her general knowledge was lacking in... everything. French club, perhaps? Her grades were abysmal, but she was pretty good at speaking it. Maybe she could become an event organizer or volunteer coordinator or, better yet, an envelope licker for some activist group. She might be really passionate about saving manatees but not know it yet. Whatever it was, it had to be a constructive distraction that wouldn’t pile onto her stress. If something like that even existed.

She remembered a flyer she saw last week. “The campus radio station is looking for volunteers,” she said, but her brain caught up to her mouth, and she realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Ugh, nevermind, that’s stupid. I shou—”

“No, it sounds cool,” Jessica interrupted. “That’s what I’m talking about. You should check it out. You never know, radio DJ might be your calling.”

“Oh, please,” Trish scoffed, but she smiled a little. It could be interesting to work at a radio station. Or she could hate it. Either way, if she was trying to figure herself out, she guessed it was as good a place as any to start. But enough of the emotional talk. She looked at Jessica and raised her chin defiantly. “I’m not playing dad rock for you.”

Jessica pouted, though she would argue it was a scowl if Trish dared to call it that. “I like new stuff. Nirvana is good.”

“Kurt Cobain was dead before you were old enough to form musical opinions. Besides, everybody knows Hole is better.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes, offended and suspicious. “Jesus, you really are insane. So what, I guess your whole playlist will just be Women Howling Against the Patriarchy?”

“Obviously,” Trish said, smirking. “But hey, I’ll slip in some Joan Jett for you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Jessica monotoned.

Trish laughed, feeling better than she had in a while. She missed Jessica, and it felt good to talk to her, even about stupid stuff. Hell, especially about stupid stuff. It was a better distraction from her problems than the other methods she relied on, better for her health and sanity. Not that talking shit or baring her soul or any kind of words were going to actually change things either. She wasn’t going to suddenly stop being rudderless and out of control. Her contract wasn’t going to go up in smoke, and her bank account wasn’t suddenly going to fill up with all her rightful earnings. Her mother wasn’t going to stop breathing down her neck about projects she didn’t want to do. It was too late to fix her grades for the semester. She was still a liar and a… an addict. None of that was going to change so easily.

But even if it was hard to see a way out of her tailspin, avoiding Jessica wasn’t the way to find it. Jessica was the only one that could help her correct course, or at least pull her out of the wreckage. And maybe it was time to stop worrying about not being good enough for Jessica and about losing her and instead enjoy being with her.

Jessica stood up, rubbing her hands together and stomping her feet a little to get the blood flowing. “Jesus fuck, it’s cold out here. You ready to go?” She held out a hand. She hadn’t tried to touch Trish again. Maybe Jessica only did it out of guilt, or because she was worried about a repeat performance, but to Trish, it felt more like a conscious effort to let her be the one to decide if and when someone could touch her. Jessica was the only one who ever did anything like that for her.

Trish smiled and took the offered hand. Jessica helped her to her feet and hovered for a moment, ready to steady Trish if she needed it. It wasn’t necessary. There was a small cramp in her leg from sitting huddled up, but she was solid on her feet. Jessica turned away, satisfied, and started walking in the direction of the dorms.

Trish’s smile dropped. She didn’t follow. It was the wrong way. Jessica said they were going home, but that wasn’t home. Jessica noticed Trish wasn’t walking with her and stopped, looking back over her shoulder. “You coming?”  
  
"Can… can we go to your place instead?" Trish asked.

Jessica rented a room in a creaky old house not far from campus. She said it was for the convenience of being close to downtown, but Trish figured it was to keep an eye on her. It wasn't much different in size or style than the dorm rooms, but it provided more privacy. Her dorm mate was manageable, but Jess was the only person she could really stand to share a space with. Before she started trying to hide her stupid self-destructive graveyard spiral, she’d spent most nights curled up in Jessica's bed.

A lot of nights before college had been like that too. Growing up in her mother's house, there was so much space and nowhere to feel safe, let alone experience any privacy. One of Dorothy’s histrionic forms of punishment was taking her bedroom door off the hinges. She could retreat to the bathroom if she had to, but being in there made her think of bruising hands around her wrists and fingers pushing down her throat. Then Jessica was there, and everything was different. The rest of the house remained no man's land, but Jessica's room became her safe place. Trish spent a lot of time in there, and somehow Jessica let her get away with it.

Next year, she could live off campus, and she and Jess would get an apartment together, and the thought of it made her heart squeeze in her chest, in a good way. It didn’t matter where they lived exactly. It wasn’t ever a place or a house or a room that was her refuge, it was a person.

“Yeah, fine,” Jessica said. She walked back towards Trish. “C’mon.”

Trish smiled lightly. She grabbed one of Jessica’s hands, unable to help herself. Jessica’s face remained indifferent, but she gave a small squeeze. Trish pulled Jessica’s jacket close and held tight to her hand the whole walk home.

**Author's Note:**

> Come have feelings about Trish with me on [Tumblr](https://itspatsy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
